


Beginning in the End

by ToukoTai



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Not actually though, everyone's an ai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToukoTai/pseuds/ToukoTai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to integrate Epsilon turns out to be the worst thing that the meta could have possibly done. But it's the best thing that's happened to Maine in a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, so I did a 180 at the end of this fic. Sorry not sorry.

Some mornings, when Maine looks in the mirror, Washington is looking back.

Those aren’t quite good mornings. Or bad mornings, just some days he walks out of his room and Washington looks back at him from the wall.

Those are usually mornings that usually come after nights spent tossing and turning as nightmare after nightmare takes over.

(The meta did not go easy.)

Those are the mornings where his battered and bruised psyche decide to cut him some slack. And instead of his own haggard, worn out, old before his time face, he sees instead _grey eyes, eyebrow scar, short spiky badly dyed blond hair_.

(Epsilon had not integrated easily. Epsilon _never_ integrated easily. It was Sigma’s one true mistake. _Taking you all with me fuckers, let’s go on a **ride**._ )

The face in the mirror is younger then he is, smiles easier, even if there’s a hard edge lurking behind the eyes. The face in the mirror never changes, never grows older, never gets new scars, is stuck as it was the last time Maine had seen it before going into implantation.

(Washington died on an operating table, Epsilon tearing his mind and body apart. Died screaming, choking on his own blood as his body self destructed around him. Epsilon _never_ integrated easy, as far as Maine knows, he’s the only one to survive.)

The man in the mirror puts his hand up against his side and Maine can’t help but do the same. His hand is bigger, rougher. The finger nails short, scars over the back from a lifetime or two of fighting. The hand in the mirror is smaller, but just as rough. Just not as time worn.

(Epsilon didn’t want to be whole, just wanted to _not exist_. And when he explodes like a burning star of memory in the middle of the meta, they all learn why. In better then HD recall. Every memory of torture, every failure, every death. It’s a little ironic to watch the scenarios that Sigma or Gamma or Omega had designed come back to haunt them with fangs and claws.

The Meta became too much. Broke down into its individual parts, screaming and crying and begging. Epsilon, calm in the storm.

_Hey jackass_. He’d said to Maine. Just to Maine, not the other fragments swirling around in confusion, pain, fear, betrayal. _I got something for ya.)_

There’s a lot of things Maine should curse Epsilon for. As the meta, he had a clear sense of purpose, of drive. Everything made sense.

Now nothing makes sense and everything is confusing. He forgets things, like how to walk, or move his hands. He always remembers, but it’s annoying. He’s got no purpose, there’s no project freelancer, all his teammates are dead, some by his own hand even. And he’s stuck out here in the middle of a canyon going nowhere fast.

But in the mirror is Washington. Happy, whole. As he was before he died. 

(Because while he was shoving every memory he had into Washington, causing fatal brain damage, system failure, death, he was also downloading. And what Epsilon took, he kept. And when Epsilon blew himself, themselves inside out, he left a perfect copy of Agent Washington behind.)

In the mirror, Washington’s mouth moves.

_Get ready,_ he mouths. _You’ve got incoming_.

From behind him, Maine hears: ‘Hey jackass.’

Alpha-no, Church, stands there, arms crossed.

“There’s some freelancer outside for you. Something about tracking down the Director. And stop doing that.” He waves a hand at the mirror, which is not a mirror so much as the opaque screen of the communications array where Washington smirks at his discomfort. “Fucking freaky AI.”

_Oh_ , Maine tugs his helmet on, watches Washington disappear from the screen and pop up in a hazy grey and yellow hologram over his shoulder. _That’s what you meant._

Maine finds he can’t be angry at Epsilon for all he took away when he gave back everything else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They knew Carolina had an ai, but they never imagined just what kind of ai it was. Felix never sees it coming and he’s never been good at being out classed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this is the last piece. Wrote it because a friend really liked the wash as an ai idea and we wound up talking about it. So this came out of that.

“This’ll be easy he said. Just two freelancers and only one will be able to use the tech he said. Just one glitchy out dated run down fragmented ai he said. They’ll never be able to keep up he said. DOES THIS LOOK LIKE NOT KEEPING UP TO YOU?” Felix shrieked in his com as Maine hyper sped clothes lined Locus almost off the moving platform. “He shouldn’t be doing _that!_ he should be able to do _any_ of that!”

“Oh yeah?” An unfamiliar voice rings out. As Maine slides to a stop and the platforms swing around to allow Carolina to launch herself at Felix. “Says who?” Maine can’t talk, _Maine can’t talk_. That’s not Carolina, there’s no one else in the area _and Maine can’t talk_.

“He couldn’t _before!”_ Is all Felix can snarl, like a petulant child. His arms block Carolina’s first two blows, but she gets under his guard and Locus to his rescue. Or at least it should be Locus to his rescue except not because _she shouldn’t be able to use the time freeze_.

But Carolina does. He’d recognize that cold tingling chill anywhere, as she suddenly goes from being in the middle of a laser fire barrage to being _right behind him_. Felix isn’t a top tier expensive as fuck mercenary for nothing though. He twists right around her, makes a break for it.

The platforms provide an excellent cover as they break away again, this time Locus and Felix on the same one. Locus is the worse for his confrontation with Maine. Sparks coming several joints in his armor. Felix feels nothing but frustration and annoyance. 

This isn’t _fair_.

“You shouldn’t be doing this! The Alpha can’t handle doing this!” Felix screamed, anger and defiance. A for sure win slipping from between his fingers due to faulty information. There’s nothing Felix hates more, the losing due to an outside mix up. And it’s been happening a lot this job.

“The Alpha?” That strange unknown voice again. “Who said anything about the Alpha.” The small glowing avatar that pops up in front of Maine, sends Felix’s stomach plummeting to his feet.

It’s not Alpha or Epsilon or any of the other fragments. And if he’s showing himself, then it’s as good as a death sentence. There’s no way the other freelancers will let them live to tattle about _this_. About _him_.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Felix spits. The avatar of Agent fucking Washington shrugs.

“I got better.”

And Maine charges.


End file.
